She could defend herself, thank you, and if the old cats wanted to squall-well, she could get along without the old cats.
There were too many nice officers in the world for her to bother about what old women said.
Pittypat was dabbing at her eyes under Melanie’s soothing words when Prissy entered with a bulky letter.
“Fer you. Miss Melly.
A lil nigger boy brung it.”
“For me?” said Melly, wondering, as she ripped open the envelope.
Scarlett was making headway with her waffles and so noticed nothing until she heard a burst of tears from Melly and, looking up, saw Aunt Pittypat’s hand go to her heart.
“Ashley’s dead!” screamed Pittypat, throwing her head back and letting her arms go limp.
“Oh, my God!” cried Scarlett, her blood turning to ice water.
“No!
No!” cried Melanie.
“Quick!
Her smelling salts, Scarlett!
There, there, honey, do you feel better?
Breathe deep.
No, it’s not Ashley.
I’m so sorry I scared you.
I was crying because I’m so happy,” and suddenly she opened her clenched palm and pressed some object that was in it to her lips.
“I’m so happy,” and burst into tears again.
Scarlett caught a fleeting glimpse and saw that it was a broad gold ring.
“Read it,” said Melly, pointing to the letter on the floor.
“Oh, how sweet, how kind, he is!”
Scarlett, bewildered, picked up the single sheet and saw written in a black, bold hand:
“The Confederacy may need the lifeblood of its men but not yet does it demand the heart’s blood of its women.
Accept, dear Madam, this token of my reverence for your courage and do not think that your sacrifice has been in vain, for this ring has been redeemed at ten times its value.
Captain Rhett Butler.”
Melanie slipped the ring on her finger and looked at it lovingly.
“I told you he was a gentleman, didn’t I?” she said turning to Pittypat, her smile bright through the teardrops on her face.
“No one but a gentleman of refinement and thoughtfulness would ever have thought how it broke my heart to-I’ll send my gold chain instead.
Aunt Pittypat, you must write him a note and invite him to Sunday dinner so I can thank him.”
In the excitement, neither of the others seemed to have thought that Captain Butler had not returned Scarlett’s ring, too.
But she thought of it, annoyed.
And she knew it had not been Captain Butler’s refinement that had prompted so gallant a gesture.
It was that he intended to be asked into Pittypat’s house and knew unerringly how to get the invitation.
“I was greatly disturbed to hear of your recent conduct,” ran Ellen’s letter and Scarlett, who was reading it at the table, scowled.
Bad news certainly traveled swiftly.
She had often heard in Charleston and Savannah that Atlanta people gossiped more and meddled in other people’s business more than any other people in the South, and now she believed it.
The bazaar had taken place Monday night and today was only Thursday.
Which of the old cats had taken it upon herself to write Ellen?
For a moment she suspected Pittypat but immediately abandoned that thought.
Poor Pittypat had been quaking in her number-three shoes for fear of being blamed for Scarlett’s forward conduct and would be the last to notify Ellen of her own inadequate chaperonage.
Probably it was Mrs. Merriwether.
“It is difficult for me to believe that you could so forget yourself and your rearing.
I will pass over the impropriety of your appearing publicly while in mourning, realizing your warm desire to be of assistance to the hospital.
But to dance, and with such a man as Captain Butler!
I have heard much of him (as who has not?) and Pauline wrote me only last week that he is a man of bad repute and not even received by his own family in Charleston, except of course by his heartbroken mother.
He is a thoroughly bad character who would take advantage of your youth and innocence to make you conspicuous and publicly disgrace you and your family.
How could Miss Pittypat have so neglected her duty to you?”
Scarlett looked across the table at her aunt.
The old lady had recognized Ellen’s handwriting and her fat little mouth was pursed in a frightened way, like a baby who fears a scolding and hopes to ward it off by tears.